


A Taste of Freedom

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Spoilers for Episode 142, Unrequited Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Martin wants to forget. Peter can give that to him.





	A Taste of Freedom

Martin pretended to work. Or maybe pretending was the wrong word, because who was there to pretend for? Peter wasn’t here, he was sure of that, and trying not to think about where that confidence came from. And nobody else even pretended to care. But the pretending was important, because if Martin acted like things were normal, or whatever passed for normal here, then he wouldn’t have to think about it. 

So he stared at the spreadsheet, one hand firmly on the mouse, the other gripping the arm of his chair. The cursor blinked, but didn’t move, caught in the cell as Martin failed to act. His chair creaked when he shifted, the sound muffled, while the text swam before his eyes. The ticking of the clock receded, and Martin wished he could as well, desperately trying to shove down the swells of an emotion he didn’t want to name. 

But he’d have to, wouldn’t he? All signs pointed to Peter’s arrival, his presence not heralded by sound and activity, but the absence of it. An absence Martin intended to fill, one question straining at his lips as the door finally swung open.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Peter took his time, like he always did. Shutting the door carefully behind him. Hanging up his coat. Walking across the room with deliberate steps until he stood behind Martin, invisible again except for the almost imperceptible sound of breathing, and the large hands that engulfed Martin’s shoulders. 

“Oh, Martin,” he said. It was almost fond, if Martin believed Peter were capable of fondness. He began to rub circles into the tight muscles of Martin’s shoulders, which only made Martin tenser. “Because you didn’t need to know.”

Martin was momentarily thrown by the brutal honesty. Not that he’d expected Peter to lie, exactly. Just that he’d thought there’d be more obfuscation, excuses and dodging around the question even when they both already knew the answer. 

“So, what? You said you’d keep an eye on Jon, you said—” A lot of things, all tangled now in Martin’s throat, accusations and questions and answers Martin didn’t want. 

“Martin,” Peter said, stopping the massage to ruffle Martin’s hair, then trailing his fingers down Martin’s neck and leaving skin prickling in his wake. “I told you before. I can’t stop him from making his own decisions, however foolish they may be. And this one isn’t even that bad. Dangerous, certainly. But he might even have a chance, given some recent changes.”

Martin’s heart skipped, panic clamoring at his throat even as he tried to swallow it back, to hide the despair so close to overtaking him. “He’s gotten worse. He’s— I heard, that is, a woman came in, and gave her statement.” 

The chair spun, and Peter now loomed over him, resting his hands on either arm while Martin wrung his fingers in his lap, trying to look at anything except Peter. Peter, who remained silent. Waiting for whatever else he intended to say. And it was a welcome silence. No questions, no accusations. Nothing at all in his empty gaze. 

“Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?” His voice cracked, and he swallowed, not sure what he even wanted. He knew what Peter was, who he was. It wasn’t like he should’ve expected anything else. 

Peter reached out, cupping Martin’s jaw and sweeping a thumb over his bottom lip, lingering there. As he drew closer, Martin noticed, not for the first time, how dark a blue his eyes were, like an open, empty expanse of sea. Eyes that you could get lost in, if you weren’t careful. 

“Because I truly didn’t know. I’m not Elias. Seeing and knowing everything isn’t really my thing. In truth, I thought it was hopeless. I might even owe Elias for that bet.” He smiled, and brushed a lock of hair off Martin’s forehead. “But isn’t it for the best? He’s much safer, this way. Stronger.”

“But he’s not Jon,” Martin said, hating how plaintive he sounded. How stupid it was, that he was looking to Peter for comfort. A monster, who couldn’t, who wouldn’t reassure Martin. Who’d never be there for him, who was only, always there for himself. 

Who smiled, even now, and didn’t pull away. 

It was a stupid, terrible impulse, but then there seemed to be a lot of that at the Institute. What was a kiss, on top of it all? Peter’s stubble scratched his cheek as he missed at first, before Peter corrected his aim with far steadier hands, mouth opening under Martin’s, letting him drink in that empty comfort. When Martin pulled back, the smile was still there, though smaller, darker. He should stop now, should never have done it in the first place. But instead, he asked Peter a question.

“Can you make me forget? Just—just for now I want to not feel.” Peter’s words echoing back to him. _When it’s over, you won’t want to._ “Like this. Just for now.” Not yet, not when some part of him still couldn’t believe it. Not until he saw. 

“Oh, Martin.” Peter tugged him to his feet, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I can definitely help with that.” 

The hand that slid under his shirt was far too cool, and exactly what Martin wanted, what he needed. What he needed not to need at all. Peter pushed him up against the desk, pressing their groins together, drawing a moan from Martin as he bit at Martin’s lips. 

Then he leaned back, turning Martin around and pushing his chest down onto the surface, tugging down his trousers and underwear, exposing him completely to the oddly cool air of the office. Martin buried his face in his arms, sucking in a breath as Peter drew a finger down the cleft of his arse, pressing against his hole, teasing for a moment before withdrawing. As the clock tipped in the background, Martin heard the sound of a zipper, followed by a rustle of cloth.

“I can’t say I prepared,” Peter said, toying against with Martin’s arse, fingers slick with something that had to be spit. Circling his hole, but not pushing inside. Simply making clear exactly what Martin was agreeing to. 

“I don’t care.” Martin dug his fingers into his own arms, anticipating the pain, wanting it. “Just fuck me.”

Peter hummed, and a cock brushed his arse. Larger than he’d expected, and wet with what had to be spit. Good enough, and Peter clearly agreed, tip lined up with his hole, hovering on the precipice. 

“Happy to oblige.” 

And clearly happy to take Martin at his word, shoving into him without any more prep, no questions, no teasing. Despite Martin’s request, it hurt, tense as he was, big as Peter was. And it wasn’t like he’d gotten much recently, or well, ever. But the pain was good, as was the punishing pace Peter set, thrusting in, each time deeper, each time faster. It drove away mundane concerns, like whether it was a good idea to do this with no protection, in an unlocked office, with his terrifying, evil boss. And it whited out the more desperate ones. The part of Martin that knew it might all be for nothing, that Jon was lost, that he couldn’t get him back. All fading under Peter’s relentless assault, hands gripping Martin with bruising force, making no sound even as Martin gasped and moaned beneath him. 

His shirt crept up, skin damp with sweat rubbing uncomfortably along the desk, Peter’s movements forcing him against it. Letting his cock brush it, but never more than that until he was pulled back again. Peter adjusted his angle, his cock sliding against Martin’s prostate in a way that made the pain, all of the pain, start to recede. Leaving a twisted sort of ecstasy in its wake as Martin came, spurting onto the drawers as Peter continued to fuck him.

After that, it all began to blur. The rhythm was relentless, nerves sparking under the continued battering. All he could do was hold on as best he could, gripping his own arms tight as Peter stuttered, then came with a sigh, the only sound he’d made. They stayed like that for a second, and then Peter pulled out, hands sliding down Martin’s thighs before dropping away.

For a moment, Martin thought Peter had left. But instead he found himself tugged to his feet, turned around again to face a still smiling Peter. 

Martin let his eyes slip shut, his breathing slowing as everything fell away around him. The only thing anchoring him Peter’s hands on his waist, and even they seemed distant. Insubstantial. Easily forgotten. 

“It’s simpler, isn’t it? Letting go.” 

Martin didn’t bother answering. Peter knew. And Martin had already forgotten.


End file.
